


An Ocean Apart

by Million_Moments



Series: Death in London [1]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a popular Saint Marie Politician is murdered in London, the Royal Saint Marie police send Detective Sergeant Bordey to London to ensure the Met find who was responsible for his death. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Alternative Universe story I thought might be fun to write, where basically Camille finds herself in the UK. I’ve only kept the characters of Camille and Richard, as I couldn’t find a way of transplanting the others really, so there are quite a lot of original characters. I am hoping to write a story for each episode of DiP but adapted for London! Now there are other changes, and things don’t always happen in the same order, but hey that’ll just keep you all on your toes! The entire story is written so it’ll all be uploaded shortly.  
> Thanks to MaddieStJ who gave it a read through to ensure it wasn’t an entirely insane idea!

He’d learnt to keep the reluctance off his face when offered a cigarette. The first real progress he’d made in establishing himself with these – for want of a better word – businessmen had come the day he accepted the high nicotine Chinese brand. He knew, of course, that nicotine was a stimulant – but now he found the bloody things soothing in these moments of high stress.

The garden of the property in Richmond was impressive in size given its city location, but then again this was an area he could only ever dream about living in. The garden went straight down to the river, and he hadn’t failed to notice the boats moored there.  The music from the house was unbearably loud, the alcohol was top quality and the women were…also something he wouldn’t be able to afford if he was so inclined. Clearly their host was keen to make a good impression in the hopes it would start a fruitful business partnership with his current employers, but he had chosen the wrong route as these were serious men not interested in their own merchandise.

The conversation was in Mandarin, it always was, “Not all of these guests would want to be here if they knew of our hosts business interests.” And clearly that was why they were here, the man was very good at covering up what he did.

“He claims to have a tame police officer,” he tried not to shudder at the term. “Not like you, of course, Inspector. You are more of a business partner. We have been given the impression this officer is more like a goon for hire.”

A camera flash made him jump, he prayed it was a party goer and not some paparazzi as he would rather not be in the background of an image on page 6 of The Sun. He was sure one of his colleagues would notice. At that moment, however, something altogether more distracting occurred.

A single gunshot was fired. There was the mandatory moment of shocked silence, before the screaming, shouting and general confused panic set in. There was no way he could remain here.

“I think you gentlemen will understand if I make a hasty exit,” he said, but his so called business partners were already in the same frame of mind.

As he made towards the train station, he hit speed dial one and waited for the familiar voice to answer, “We’ve got a problem.”

 

* * *

 

Scene of Crime Officers were everywhere, all wearing those silly suits. Eric Goodlife had gotten away with just popping on some of those blue overshoes – he didn’t mind, he had absolutely no desire to get blood on his favourite pair of trainers. What he did mind was the fact he was stuck up here, when there were any number of (given the chill in the air) severely underdressed young women in the dining room downstairs awaiting interview. The reason he wasn’t there was quite simple, he’d over heard the great Detective Superintendent Nightingale – rising star of the Metropolitan Police – was on her way. With the DCI on the team recently retired on Medical Grounds, DS Goodlife had expected responsibility for this investigation to be farmed out to one of the departments DI’s, but clearly something about this case was important enough to warrant Nightingale’s personal attention. He was up here because he was trying to figure out what.

He suspected that if he asked around he would find Idrissa Konare, owner of this property and host of the party that had been occurring at the time of the killing, might not be the clean cut businessman he pertained to be. Goodlife knew of no active investigations against the man, and suspected he probably just indulged in the ladies and maybe a little recreational drug use. A SOCO team member – in those suits he really couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a bloke – handed him an evidence bag containing the victim’s passport. The document had been issues by a British Overseas Territory – Saint Marie. Goodlife had never heard of it or the victim, Jean Toulouse. It looked like he would have to await his superior’s arrival before this little mystery was solved.

He was soon lost in a daydream about Selena Nightingale – the woman’s career was legendary and she probably was about the same age as him. He really should have been kicked back down to uniform and become a desk sergeant a long while back, but his CI network was currently securing his position in CID. That woman though, she was ambitious and a real hell cat. He couldn’t help but wonder if she behaved the same way in the bedroom as she did in the office. He wouldn’t mind letting her hair down from that bun she always wore it in.

It was this fantasy that allowed his superior to sneak up on him. She snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention and God help him he very nearly saluted, he was certainly standing straighter.

“It’s nice to see that everything is so under control Sergeant Goodlife that you have time for daydreaming,” she said sharply. “Where is DS Sy?”

“I’m here, Ma’am,” the voice came from the stairs that led up to the properties third floor. Goodlife hadn’t heard his fellow detective arrive, Leo must have gone past him when he was busy with his little fantasy. “I was just checking the upper floor, Ma’am.”

Superintendent Nightingale raised both eyebrows and levelled the younger officer with a look, “Without shoe covers?”

Leo Sy visibly flushed, his dark colouring doing nothing to help hide it, and Goodlife actually felt sorry for him, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, I…”

He was cut off abruptly by his superior, “That is the sort of mistake that I expect from a probationary constable, Sy, not a Detective Sergeant. It is, quite frankly, unacceptable.”

Leo clearly didn’t have an excuse, and Nightingale probably wouldn’t have accepted anything he came up with anyway, so he just looked at the floor and offered, “I guess I was distracted Ma’am and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t normally make mistakes, Sergeant, not like this,” One of Nightingale’s  many talents was that she knew all of her officer’s personnel files off by heart – their skills, their weaknesses and for all Goodlife knew their bloody shoe size as well. “Because of that, rather than sending you to write up traffic violations for the next fortnight I’ll let it go this once. Make sure you submit your shoe prints to SOCO for elimination. I need you on this case anyway, the owner of the property is a Senegalese national and so are several of the witnesses. After I’m done here go see if your language skills are required downstairs. I’m taking an interest in this case because our victim failed the Google test.”

The Google test was a crude method used by detectives to assess how much publicity any given murder might achieve – along with other obvious factors like level of gruesomeness. In general, if you googled your victim’s name and the first few pages of results were not a reference to him or her then you were safe. Eric was about to find out why his superior was here in the early hours of the morning.

“Jean Toulouse is a politician on Saint Marie,” Both detectives had blank looks on their faces. “It’s an island in the Caribbean, a British Overseas Territory along the lines of the Falklands or Montserrat. Since it is not actually the middle of the night on Saint Marie I put in a call to the police there and was directed to the commissioner himself. Turns out Mr Toulouse was a _very_ popular man amongst the island’s inhabitants. The Commissioner was quite insistent that he sends one of his officers to assist with the investigation. I imagine he’s concerned we might let it slip to the bottom of our priorities otherwise. I’ve agreed, and she will be interviewing the victim’s family tomorrow and arriving Thursday.”

“So you won’t be needing a volunteer to go to the Caribbean then and help with those interviews, then?” Eric asked as he flashed a grin, even though he knew it was cheeky. The Super just rolled her eyes, and Eric reckoned she might not be immune to his killer smile.

Sy looked uncomfortable, Goodlife knew that look but before he could prevent his less experienced colleague from saying something stupid he’d already blurted it out, “Ma’am, with all due respect, should we really allow the Saint Marie police service to interfere in our investigation? I’ve never even heard of the place, I doubt even their best detective has any skills or access to resources we lack. We’ll just end up babysitting them!”

Anybody who spared the Superintendent half a glace now would not need much in the way of intuition to tell she was not pleased with DS Sy’s outburst.

“I have already made the decision that we _will_ collaborate with the Royal Saint Marie Police Service and it is not your place, _Sergeant,_ to question that decision. It is my intension that you work in partnership with Detective Sergeant Bordey, and I’ll be checking in with her regularly to make sure she feels welcome. Do I make myself clear?”

Leo looked suitably ashamed by his second reprimand of the evening, “Yes, Ma’am, of course.”

“Good, you can start that partnership by picking her up from the airport Thursday. I’ll forward you the flight details.”

Nightingale stalked off, collaring the head of the crime scene unit for a briefing. Eric tried to think of something comforting to say, but all he could come up with was, “Hey, you never know, this Bordey woman might be really hot!”

 

* * *

 

 

It hadn’t taken long for Arthur to realise that generally Eric made phone calls for one of two reasons: to arrange a meeting with an informant, or to arrange a meeting with a lady. Judging by his body language at the moment, and the big grin plastered on his face, it looked like he was up to the latter. Arthur really didn’t understand how Eric never got reprimanded for all the personal calls he made from his desk. On the way to the printer, he overheard him say, “But you must have some sort of idea what she’s like, Susan?”

Ah, so perhaps Juliet had finally caved and set up the good detective sergeant on a blind date with of her friends. Eric was probably trying to get Susan in HR to send over the personnel file so he could check her out beforehand. He collected his papers, and then the printer whirred to life again and he turned around to find Eric hurrying over to retrieve it.

“Susan didn’t actually give you access to a personnel file did she?” he asked, a little shocked.

“No, this is an abbreviated copy of her CV that was sent on ahead of her so the Super could get a peek at her skill set! Apparently I’d find it online, if I looked hard enough for it, which is why Susan released it.” He grabbed the still warm paper from the tray, and Arthur realised he didn’t know what was going on.

“I’m sorry whose CV?”

“Camille Bordey, you dope. The Detective they are sending from Saint Marie tomorrow. His eyes rapidly scanned the single A4 sheet, and he frowned. “She is hot, but she’s also French.”

Arthur grabbed the paper from him. The picture was probably quite an old one, considering she was in uniform, but she was pretty, “I though Saint Marie was a British Overseas Territory?”

The paper was taken from his hands by Detective Sergeant Sy. Unlike Eric, who was generally quite relaxed about the rank thing, Arthur wouldn’t dare call Sy by his first name, “Saint Marie has been ruled by the French, British and Dutch. The French handed it back to the British in the Seventies for some reason. Detective Sergeant Bordey chose to train in France it would seem, but I imagine she is familiar with British law.”

Arthur tried to keep reading the CV from a distance, and spotted something that made his mouth hang open for a second, “She had _three_ commendations for bravery? I don’t know anybody who has one, let alone three!”

“She’ll certainly be interesting to work with,” Sy said casually.

 

* * *

 

 

During one of the years she’d been in Paris, Camille had been introduced to the concept of an Indian summer. That September had been long and warm. Flowers continued to bloom, trees stayed green and the swallows didn’t bother heading south just yet. In the thirty seconds it took to descend the steps from the plane and get onto the bus that would shuttle her to arrivals, Camille knew with 100% certainty that London was not experiencing an Indian summer. On the shuttle she overheard fellow travellers moaning about how the first few days of September had already broken records for low temperatures. Thank God she’d kept that winter coat from her student days. She was going to have to unpack her bag in the middle of baggage reclaim to retrieve it but it would be worth it.

However, after thirty minutes of patiently watching her fellow passengers collect their belongings, only two bags remained forlornly circling the carousel and neither were hers. She didn’t need to be a detective to know her bag had gotten lost.

The young woman behind the lost luggage counter couldn’t apologise enough, it was almost as if she personally felt responsible for Camille’s missing case. Camille assured her that these things happened occasionally and that yes, she was an experienced traveller so had packed a change of clothes in her carry on and did have insurance. She filled out the relevant forms and Molly the lost luggage lady promised to call once she’d tracked the case down.

Once she’d actually made it out of baggage reclaim, she called the number she’d been given the previous day. She jumped a little when a phone rang right next to her at the same moment it did in her ear. When she turned around, an exceptionally tall, Afro-Caribbean man was smiling down at her expectantly.

“Detective Sergeant Bordey?” he asked, not bothering to answer his ringing phone. She hit the end call button on her own device and offered a hand.

“Yes, sorry, how did you know?”

He shook her hand with a firm grip, “You look like a police officer.” She raised her eyebrows at that, she was pretty certain she actually looked nothing like a police officer and had been told so on many occasions. Perhaps he was trying to make a joke, and she was a little too jet lagged to find it amusing. “I’ve actually seen a picture of you, a succinct copy of your resume is floating around the office. I’m DS Leo Sy.”

Camille couldn’t help but wonder why people would want to see her resume, perhaps they had doubted her abilities. She’d been concerned such a thing might happen, they probably all thought she worked on some backwater little island where criminals were only caught by chance rather than good police work. Well, her resume would have proved she was certainly qualified.

“Where is your case?” he asked, breaking her contemplation. 

“Oh, lost” she told him, shrugging.

“That’s awful!”

“Well I’m an experience traveller, I have a change of clothes in my carryon and hopefully it’ll turn up tomorrow. I imagine it got lost in Paris where I changed planes. I wish I hadn’t have packed my winter coat in it, though.”

The detective smiled kindly at her, and she couldn’t help but notice what an attractive smile it was, “I’m sure we can sort something out at the station.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille had assured Leo that she was able to work, had gotten plenty of rest on the flight – though a coffee wouldn’t go amiss. He led her out to his car, and she had nodded off during the drive. When it came to a stop, she jerked awake and realised that this was clearly not Richmond Police Station. Instead they were parked in front of a remarkably ugly pair of tower blocks, all exposed concrete and tiny windows. They didn’t exactly scream “homely”. The look on her face clearly indicated her confusion, and she didn’t need to actively ask for Leo to answer what she was thinking.

“The Met own a flat here for visiting officers. It’s actually a really nice area, the park is just behind here. I thought you might like an hour just to freshen up before I bring you to the station to meet the rest of the team. He dangled a set of keys between them. “It’s 602. Shall I meet you here at 11?”

Camille agreed readily and took the keys. Inside the lobby, she discovered the lift was broken. She wasn’t in the best mood by the time she reached the sixth floor but held out hope that there might be a nice view. Unfortunately, the flat she had been allocated did not look out onto the park Leo had mentioned, instead she had a delightful view of the car park and main road beyond – hardly inspirational. With no unpacking to do, she rummaged through the cupboards and found half a jar of cheap looking instant coffee, but it’d do for now. In the fridge there was a small plastic bottle of what used to be milk – probably left there by whatever officer had used the flat last. It went straight into the bin. Looking around the rest of the flat, she really hoped they solved the case quickly so she wouldn’t have to stay here too long. The décor was so minimalist it was depressing, if she lived here she might be tempted to throw herself out the window. Perhaps that’s why they were so small, to prevent such an event.

A faint scuttling sound caused her to whip around. There, sitting on the ugly brown rug really rather brazenly, was a mouse. Camille harboured no ill will towards mice in general, but she was aware they weren’t exactly supposed to be living on flats on the sixth floor.

“Shoo!” she told it loudly, clapping her hands for emphasis. It turned tail and disappeared behind the TV unit, and she figured she’d let the next detective deal with it.

 

* * *

 

 

The coffee was truly awful, and after two mouthfuls she tipped it down the sink. She even went so far as to throw the rest of the jar away to save future officers the pain of having their hopes of a decent cup of coffee dashed so spectacularly. Perhaps there would be some kind of café at the station, it had looked pretty large when she’d snuck a look on Google Street View.

She changed, her blouse was wrinkled from being in her bag but she got the impression what she’d worn on the flight over wouldn’t be suitable. Leo had turned up to pick her up in a suit. Well she could always just tell people she’d lost her case so they’d understand the creases. She wasn’t sure when she last used an iron – at home she could just pop stuff on a hanger and the heat caused the wrinkles to fall out.

Leo actually arrived at 10:55, knocking on the door whilst she was still trying to reapply make up. Though she’d shouted she would be there in a minute, he clearly wasn’t a patient man and began knocking again so she abandoned the eyeliner, grabbed her handbag and went to meet him.

 

* * *

 

At Richmond station she was issued a security pass to get her through various locked doors. She tried to pay attention, but the place was a labyrinth of corridors and stair wells and she knew she’d have to ask somebody to show her the way out. She was also a little surprised by the bustling open plan office she followed Leo into – there were at least 25 people all busy doing something. Well, London did have a higher crime rate than Saint Marie, there were probably lots of different cases being investigated.

“I’m afraid we are a bit full at the moment, Arthur here has shoved up to let you share his desk for now. DC Arthur Carter this is DS Camille Bordey, our colleague from the Royal Saint Marie Police Service. Arthur has only been in CID two weeks, this is his first murder case and he’s _very_ excited.”

There wasn’t any reason really to tell Camille Arthur was a recent promotion, a quick glance could tell you how green he was. He’d probably been forced to give up his desk space since he was newest to the team.

“Hi!” He said brightly, smiling broadly and shaking her hand enthusiastically. “It’s really good of you to come all this way to help with the case. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Arthur was very impressed by your resume,” Leo explained, Camille felt bad for Arthur as he blushed. “He really wants to know how you got those three commendations for bravery.”

“Well if I told you, you’d probably be less impressed,” she smiled at the junior officer kindly, trying to put him at ease. Was she really so intimidating?

Somebody behind her gave a fake cough, clearly intending to get her attention. She turned around and an officer older than she stood and smiled at her warmly, “I’m Eric, Eric Goodlife. I’m the poor Detective Sergeant who has to train Arthur here, though perhaps Arthur is the one who should be pitied being stuck with me.” Camille shook his hand, amused by the man’s antics.

“OK the first thing we need to do is get you access to the system so you can look at what we have to date, and then we’ll need to get your interviews with the victim’s families uploaded,” Leo said brusquely, clearly Arthur and Eric were the only introductions she was getting for now.

“You don’t have a paper copy, do you? I haven’t got a problem with computers I just process the information better on paper usually.”

The three men seemed to exchange a look that Camille wasn’t sure she liked, were they judging her?

“Who’s on data entry?” Leo asked Arthur.

He smiled wistfully as he answered, “Juliet.” Sy rolled his eyes and said in a firm tone, clearly intended for Arthur, “PC Poole should be able to provide you with hard copies, and help you enter your own data. This way please.”

They wound their way through the people, Camille receiving several curious glances, until they reached a bank of computers where a few unformed officers were working.

“Constable Poole?” Leo said, and a pretty blonde girl stood up from her computer respectfully.

“Yes Sir?”

“This is Detective Sergeant Bordey from Saint Marie. She would like the hard copy of the operation to date, and then I’d appreciate it if you’d show her how she could enter her own data. I’ll be at my desk if you need me,” this last bit was addressed to Camille, and he disappeared without another word.

“Please Ma’am, call me Juliet,” She fetched Camille a chair, which she accepted gratefully.

“Ok but you have to call me Camille, no need for ‘Ma’am’, it makes me feel old.”

Juliet smiled and nodded, then reached under her desk to bring a massive file folder out. Camille was a bit shocked they had so much data already, and even more so when Juliet retrieved a second half full folder to go with the first.

“These are the hard copies, but I mean _everything_ is in there. I can show you how to log in and search for just the reports you specifically want if you like?”

“Maybe that would be best,” Camille said.

“Right so first thing is to open up HOLMES 2, you’re only going to be able to do that from terminals in this office since you don’t have an encrypted laptop. I’ll get you some log on details shortly, I believe the Superintendent has already seen to it. To see the documents attached to a case, you can just type in the name of your operation, this investigation is Operation Graphite,” Juliet spoke quickly, clearly this was not the first tour of the system she had given.

“All of your murder investigations get operation titles?” She asked disbelievingly – it seemed a little excessive to her.

“Yes, and some of them are really weird. We don’t get to pick them ourselves you see,” she said with a quick smile. “But I mean who approved the name ‘Operation Canker’ or ‘Operation Aftershave’, at least Operation Graphite sounds relatively professional,” Juliet said conversationally, before launching back into her explanation of HOLMES 2.

In the middle of explaining the Disclosure Management system, Juliet must have caught the look of mild dismay on Camille’s face. It wasn’t that Camille wasn’t good with computers, she was. She’d been involved in several cybercrime investigations, but she hadn’t ever used a system like this before and it was a little overwhelming.

“Camille? Are you okay? Do you want me to cover something again, Ma’am?” Juliet asked her kindly.

“No it’s okay Juliet, I might have to come and ask you a question later though if you aren’t busy,” Camille told her, shaking off her self-doubt. Once she actually used the system she’d probably work it out.

“Of course, anytime. Out of interest what system do you use in Saint Marie? To cross reference interview statements and the like?”

Camille took a brief moment to consider how it was best to phrase it, then just shrugged and told Juliet the truth, “A whiteboard.”

The two other uniformed officers working with Juliet stopped typing at her admission to look up in disbelief. Camille heard one of them say ‘wow’ quietly. Juliet shot them a look and said severely, “They have a case closure rate of 92%!” and both officers went back to their work without further comment. 

“How do you know our statistics?” Camille asked curiously.

“Data is sort of my thing, I love facts and figures,” Juliet told her, smiling. Then, clearly trying to keep the look of concern off her face, added casually, “And seriously, anytime you have a question. Just ask.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

“When can we go question Konare? I’d also like to talk to his wife.” It had taken Camille far too long to get her interview notes up on the system. She knew paperwork was an essential part of police work, but she hadn’t become a police officer to write reports all day.

Leo looked up sharply at her, “Those interviews have been conducted, did you not see them in the file?”

“Yes, I did. They were very…professional.” Camille knew she would have to choose her words carefully, after all Leo had been one of the officers conducting the actual interviews. “But you see, it’s very difficult to interpret the demeanour of the suspect from a written report.”

“What makes you think Konare is a suspect?” Leo sounded almost defensive, she really was trying her best not to step on his toes.

“Well, neither of them have an alibi for the time of the shot being fired, right? Juliet showed me how to check a list of actions to be taken for a case on HOLMES, and it showed they would need to be given a second interview because of their lack of alibi. So if it’s not a problem I’d like to be there for that,” She thought she’d phrased it pretty well.

“I’m sure DS Sy can arrange that,” The firm statement came from beside Camille, where a smallish woman, at least ten years older than Camille but still very attractive, had appeared. The voice seemed familiar, and judging by the fact Leo had jumped to his feet, she assumed this was Detective Superintendent Nightingale.

“Of course, Ma’am. I was just talking to the officers still at the scene who confirmed that both Mr and Mrs Konare are still at home, so we could leave quite shortly,” he told Nightingale promptly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Superintendent,” Camille smiled brightly and offered a hand. Though her superior didn’t return the smile, there was still a certain warmth in her gaze that Camille liked.

“I appreciate your dedication, Detective Sergeant Bordey, coming into work on the day you arrive despite the time difference,” Nightingale said sincerely. “I hope you enjoy your time here at The Met, however long that is. It’s always interesting to have officers from sister forces, and quite often educational for both parties.”

“Well I’d be happy to offer insight where I can, Ma’am, though I think The Met’s resources are a little more…sophisticated than on Saint Marie,” She told Nightingale self-deprecatingly. “Juliet, um, I mean PC Poole just introduced me to HOLMES 2. On Saint Marie we use a white board.” At her pronouncement, which she’d meant really as just a conversational point, Sy gave a smile that was very nearly a sneer. This caused her to hastily add, “Which works very well for us though, we actually have a 92% closure rate.”

Sy’s smile faltered a little at that, and disappeared completely when Nightingale replied, “Oh yes, I personally prefer a flip chart. I’ve got one in the corner of the officer, when I need to think about a case I just put up whatever evidence I think is relevant and consider it there. HOLMES2 isn’t a replacement for the human mind, we can still make connections it wouldn’t spot in a hundred years.”

“I agree completely, Ma’am,” Camille replied.

“Well, any problems DS Bordey just let me know. I shall let you go now so you can start those interviews!” Nightingale swept off without a backwards glance, and Camille observed another officer jump out of his skin when his superior suddenly appeared in front of his desk. She was certainly stealthy.

“Are you ready?” Sy asked.

“ _Allons-y.”_

* * *

 

The drive over gave Camille a chance to get Leo’s opinion on a few more things, “So everybody who was present at the party was interviewed apart from this guy?” She held in her hand a blow up of a shot where the person of interest was clearly not the intended subject. His face was turned away from the camera, coat collar turned up, he’d certainly be difficult to identify from this picture.

“Yes, he was talking to some Chinese businessmen, representatives of some company that take metal things and coats them in plastic, helps prevent corrosion or something. Evidently Mr Konare was hoping they would become his new…metal-coated-in-plastic supplier, and had invited them to the party to get them in the mood to make a deal. They claim they did not know the individual, and he only spoke to them briefly. Nobody else seems to remember him being there.”

“Strange, maybe he was a gate crasher,” Camille commented idly, not really believing it to be the case, the body language was all wrong. “Juliet told me uniform are asking around?”

“That’s right, though unless he’s still in the Richmond area I think our chances of finding him based off that photo are quite small.”

She hummed in agreement, and then moved on to the other thing that puzzled her, “So a safe had been opened in the room adjacent to where Toulouse was shot, right? But the only thing he took was a USB memory device that contained PR material and a few financial reports for Konare’s new business venture?”

“That right, why?”

“Well, why would you keep a memory stick in a safe with such innocuous material on it? Couldn’t he just have used an encryption file on a normal computer?” It bugged her, but the rest of the safe contents were what you’d normally expect – cash, visa documents and some pretty lovely diamonds. The victim was no thief, they were all accounted for, so Jean Toulouse had apparently specifically gone after this USB drive even though it contained nothing on the surface that would be of interest to him.

“Mr Konare claims to have had issues with industrial espionage in the past,” DS Sy explained to her. “He admits he was a little paranoid to lock it in the safe, but we can hardly arrest him for that. As for why Toulouse wanted it, your guess is as good as mine. Probably better than mine since you’ve interviewed the victim’s family and thus probably know more about him.”

“He had business ventures but they were all tied to tourism in Saint Marie, nothing in Konare’s portfolio seems to crossover.”

“Well maybe we can ask him.” Leo parked up the car, and Camille took a moment to admire the house. Now if The Met owned a place like this for visiting officers, she might just about be convinced to stay longer.

Konare greeted her with the same smile he wore on the publicity photographs, one Camille was sure was supposed to inspire confidence. Her reading revealed he was an immigrant success story, coming to the UK 15 years before, starting with a market stall and now owning 5 companies outright, with interests in several others. Politicians loved him, he was a shining beacon of egalitarianism, and one website had mentioned rumours of him being in the New Year’s Honours.

Sy took care of the introductions, “Mr Konare this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey of the Royal Saint Marie Police Service. As you know the man who died at your property was from Saint Marie, so obviously they are as to get to the bottom of the matter as we are. Since Sergeant Bordey has only just arrived I wondered if it would be possible to conduct another interview, both for her benefit and just to see if perhaps you have remembered any more details?”

Camille couldn’t help but think Leo employed a _very_ different interview technique from herself. He was being downright deferential, considering this man had no alibi and may very well be involved in the murder. She supposed this wasn’t a man you wanted to get on the wrong side of, one of the pictures in the file showed him at a party with the Home Secretary in the background.

“Well I suppose there’s no harm in that,” his accent was warm, she liked it actually. But she still felt like she was being treated to some big PR exercise.

“Perhaps you could show me where you were at the time of the shooting?” She asked, might as well get the lack of alibi thing out of the way.

“Of course, please follow me.” They exited through the patio doors, meandering through a surprisingly large garden that apparently backed directly onto the river. Camille might have enjoyed it more if she wasn’t absolutely freezing. He moved down some steps to a small marina where several boats were moored. “When I heard the gunshot I was here at my marina. I had met a young woman at the party who was interested in talking to me privately about a…career opportunity… at my media firm. We came down here to be alone and away from the noise of the party.”

“And how does your wife feel about you entertaining young women alone on your boats?” It was a rather direct question given the tone of the interview set by Leo, but she really didn’t have time to beat about the bush, and she didn’t know how long she could stave off shivering.

Konare merely raised his eyebrows and gave a small smirk, “You’re correct to assume she was not happy, even though it was actually quite innocent. Apparently something required my attention at the party and she came down to try and find me. Got entirely the wrong idea. I chased after her but she had a bit of a tantrum, tried to throw a glass of wine at me, I deflected it though and it ended up on her instead.”

“So you were back at the house when the victim was killed?” She said sharply.

“No, I returned her to look for the young woman, but she was gone – probably embarrassed. When I heard the gunshot I confess I was a little afraid, a high profile individual such as myself is not without the odd threat, so I decided to remain relatively hidden here until the police arrived,” Konare explained in an almost bored tone.

“Why was Mr Toulouse at the party?” Camille asked, nowhere in “Operation Graphite” had she found a reason for Toulouse’s presence – unless it was just to take something from the safe.

“I think you’ll have to ask my wife, he wasn’t invited by me. I let her add guests, she has a surprisingly good instinct for inviting people who may prove…useful. Perhaps she had some vague idea this Toulouse character fit that description.”

“Mr Toulouse seems to have opened a safe owned by you, who has the codes for that safe?” Leo asked.

“Myself and my wife, she keeps some of her nicer jewels in there. I certainly haven’t given the code to anyone else, but Elizabeth can be a bit ditzy, perhaps you should check with her.” Camille felt like that last answer was a dismissal, and though there were a few more things she’d like to ask him her instincts told her pushing the man at this point would get her nowhere. She could come back when she had something a little more solid than gut instinct.

In the house, a staff member guided them to Mrs Konare’s room. Camille was a little surprised to find a woman barely out of girlhood – much younger than her husband. Her accent was stronger as well, English a little hesitant. When she studied the woman’s expression she felt a pang familiarity, probably induced by meeting a fellow human also far from home. Leo threw her for a moment by addressing Mrs Konare in French when it came to begin the actual questioning, but having the interview in French hardly put Camille at a disadvantage and seemed to have greatly relaxed Mrs Konare.

“Please call me Elizabeth,” the young woman smiled at Camille shyly after she had asked where she was at the time of the gunshot. “I was in the shower. I’m afraid I had a misunderstanding with my husband and got wine on my clothes and hair. I came in here to get cleaned up. I didn’t even hear the shot over the sound of the shower.”

She seemed genuinely apologetic, so Camille smiled reassuringly at her, “So did you invite Mr Toulouse to the party?”

“No, didn’t my husband?” she said, frowning. The question distressed her a little more than it should, but Camille wasn’t sure what to make of that yet.

“It would seem not Elizabeth. I understand you know the code to the safe, did you tell anyone else at all?” Leo questioned.

“Oh no, of course not!” She denied quickly. “I would never do that!” The denial seemed a little too forceful to Camille, perhaps she had sent a member of staff once to the safe to fetch something and didn’t want her husband to find out.

Her husband stuck his head in just then, scowling a little and speaking sharply to his wife, “Elizabeth, I told you that you need to practise English!”

“Yes, sorry,” she replied breathlessly.

Camille dived in to try and prevent Elizabeth further distress, “Oh Mr Konare since I’ve caught you again, I was wondering if you or your wife perhaps recognise this man?”

Konare scrutinised the photograph carefully, but there wasn’t any spark of recognition, “I’m sorry I don’t know who he is. Those gentlemen were prospective business partners, though I’m afraid attending a party where somebody gets murdered rather put them off the idea and they have returned to Shanghai.” He sounded genuinely put out, as if Toulouse’s death was an inconvenient event rather than a man losing his life.  Elizabeth gave the photograph a brief study, but also shook her head to indicate she didn’t know who the man in question was.

 

* * *

 

 

They left the couple, and by the car Leo paused and asked her opinion. “The wife knows something she’s not telling us, I’m sure of it. I suppose it is a little suspicious she was showering at the time of the murder. She could have committed the crime, then gone to wash any trace evidence off.”

Leo frowned, “I agree she is hiding something, but she doesn’t strike me as a murderer.”

He unlocked the car and climbed in, as Camille slipped into the passenger seat she said, “You aren’t some terribly sentimental officer who believes a young woman incapable of murder, are you? Because I can provide several examples…”

“And I can give you half a dozen as well, it’s not because she’s a woman, or young, it’s just gut instinct I guess.” Camille was surprised he was willing to admit such a thing, he seemed a bit too uptight for gut instinct.

“Well I’m inclined to agree. Where too next?”

“For you? Home.”

“What, why? It’s only five. I’d like to see the hotel room where Jean Toulouse was staying.”

Leo shot her a quick sideways glance, “I’ll check but I think forensics might have released that room. You flew here overnight and have been working all day, surely you’re tired? Please don’t think you have to prove anything…”

“Why would I have to prove anything?” She asked sharply. Surely Leo knew that by making the statement he was implying there were people who thought she _did_ need to prove herself.

“You don’t!” He was clearly taken aback by the venom in her tone, and she realised that actually she was a bit tired. “But most officers will be knocking off for the day now anyway. Look we’ll pop back into the station and see about that hotel room first then, since it’s on the way. Then I’m going home so you might as well.”

Camille nodded her agreement, and they were soon back at the station. Sy booted up his terminal and looked something up on one of the hundreds of databases The Met seemed to use. He frowned at what he read on the screen.

“That’s a little odd, forensics finished yesterday but it seems Superintendent Nightingale extended the seal on the scene until tomorrow evening,” he told her.

“Why is that so unusual, perhaps she just wanted to make sure they didn’t miss anything?”

“More likely she assumed you’d want to see the place. Either way there is no need to hurry over there tonight, it’s actually quite close to where you’re staying. Just a five minute walk down the road.” He turned his screen around to show her, and when Camille leaned across the desk she accidently knocked over a cup Leo had been using to hold various things. She instantly apologised, gathering up the pens, USB drive and paperclips she’d spread over the desk and floor. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no, it really is just down the road, I won’t get lost. I’ll do it first thing in the morning and then make my way here. I’m sure you’ve better things to do than drive me around all the time! Oh, but could you arrange for that USB drive to be sent up please?”

“Why would you want to see it?” Leo asked frowning.

“Just for completeness sake,” She said, shrugging. She didn’t really understand why he found it such a strange request.

 

* * *

 

 

Back at the flat, she found she had a message from the airline informing her that they were still not able to locate her luggage. She sighed, and chucked all her clothes into the washer/dryer. She didn’t have any powder, but hopefully they’d be a bit fresher in the morning. She eyed up a particularly ugly rug, wondered if it would be a bit brighter if she washed it, but shrugged off the idea. She sank onto the sofa, and gave a little squeak of surprise as the mouse ran out from underneath it and across the room. Oh well, out of sight, out of mind. She shouldn’t really go to bed so early, even if she was tired, so decided to update the Commissioner.

“Sir,” she greeted him. In the background she thought she could hear the market, which would be in full swing at this time of day. She suddenly felt homesick, tried to push it aside though for the conversation. She could wallow when she wasn’t reporting in.

“How is everything, Camille?” Came the warm tones of her superior.

“It’s largely fine, though I have to say I don’t think everyone is 100% happy to have me here. They’ve put me up in what is probably the dullest flat in London, but it won’t stop me doing my job. I feel like this all happened very last minute,” she complained mildly.

“Camille if I hadn’t have gotten you out there quickly you’d have had very little influence over the investigation. You should remember this is a good opportunity for you.”

“Sir?” She questioned, unsure what he meant. Was he hoping she could do some networking, maybe increase their resources?

“When your undercover assignment fell through due to lack of funding, I knew it was a disappointment for you – it was for me as well. You are a very skilled detective, take the opportunity to show them that and learn what you can from them.”

It almost sounded like the Commissioner was encouraging her to make a good impression in the hopes of getting a job here, “Sir, I’m looking forward to coming home when I have solved this.”

He didn’t reply to that directly, “Keep me apprised of the situation, if you need any information from Saint Marie you know you can just call.” He rung off, leaving Camille wondering what the heck was going on.

 

* * *

 

 

Before leaving for the day, Leo had approached Eric and Arthur and informed them that Camille had requested the USB drive, asking if one of them could sort it out since he was about to drive her home.

“It’s over at the Police Central e-crime Unit!” Eric protested. “I’d have to go all the way over there to maintain chain of custody! What does she want it for anyway, what possible use could it be?”

“Don’t ask me, but Nightingale said we were to keep her happy.” He wondered off before Eric could complain further.

“I’ve never been to the PCeU,” Arthur said across from him. God, that kid was keen.

 

* * *

 

On the way to pick up the USB, Eric convinced the young DC Carter that it was a good idea for them to visit various pubs in Richmond that evening to look for the mystery man. Uniforms had gone out and done some questioning of bar staff, but if the man was a local who perhaps just gate-crashed he’d be much more likely to be in the pubs in the evening. Okay, so Eric was really just looking for a drinking partner for a couple of pints that evening, but he did at least bring a copy of the photograph with him.

In the third establishment, he realised it was not as fun as he hoped, “I normally don’t spend so much time scrutinising the men in the bar.”

“Do you think she’ll stay?” Arthur piped up. He was a bit of a lightweight, and Eric had insisted he have orange juice instead of a third Guinness. He did not want to send him home drunk.

“What are you on about?”

“That Detective Sergeant!” he answered earnestly. “She seems nice, do you think she’ll stay? Maybe that’s why she came all this way, chance for a job on another force!”

“No, I don’t think she’ll stay. Which is probably for the best, I’m not sure she’ll fit in. I mean did you hear her ask for a _paper copy_ of the files earlier? I’m not brilliant with the old computers but I recognise how valuable HOLMES2 is.”

“Juliet said she picked it up really fast,” the younger officer defended the foreign detective.

“Well maybe she would, but still, she’s a bit of a wild card – you can tell. That position in CID is currently filled by yours truly. I’m not sure she could adapt her style of investigating to The Met long term.” Eric didn’t really object to Camille Bordey, but he didn’t need another DS making his life difficult, Leo already did that.

“I think she should stay,” Arthur muttered into his juice.

“Ah, you just want _her_ to be your training officer with her three commendations for bravery and cute French accent,” Eric teased him.

Arthur blushed.


	3. Chapter 3

Camille made it to the hotel in no time at all from her flat, partly because it was so close and partly because it was so cold she practically ran there in an effort to stay warm. She enquired at the desk and was passed an envelope containing a key for the room and a note from Leo telling her to call and he’d give her a lift. She smiled, perhaps she wasn’t as unwelcome as she thought. The British were a reserved bunch after all.

She struggled briefly with the key card, but then eventually wrestled the thing open. Camille swung the door open wide, and caught a noise indicating that she was perhaps not alone in the room. The first thought that popped into her head was that perhaps Toulouse’s killer had come here looking to remove evidence. For a moment she wished she was armed, and for want of anything better she grabbed the portable kettle from its nook. She reckoned she could probably knock somebody out with it if she put a little effort behind the swing. She began to move slowly towards the other side of the bed where she had heard the noise, but to her surprise a man suddenly stood up and asked politely, “Can I help you, Madam?”

“Who are you?” She asked sharply. The man before he was rather unthreatening – nearly middle aged, dressed up in a suit and, dear God were those white gloves?

“I’m the valet the hotel assigned to Mr Toulouse,” He told her, and she had to admit he certainly looked the part.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Bordey of the Royal Saint Marie Police Service, who gave you permission to be in here?” She showed her ID.

“I’m sorry, Madam, I was told forensics were done with the room. I was preparing to pack up Mr Toulouse’s possessions for his family. You caught me checking under the bed, you’d be surprised how many guests lose items under there,” he gave her a nervous sort of smile. Camille had no idea men as English as he existed, though if she was going to find one it probably would be at a hotel as posh as this one.

“Yes, they are done so luckily you won’t have contaminated the scene but still – you aren’t supposed to be here until it’s officially released this evening,” she said reasonably sternly.

“So you’re saying I should go, Madam?” he said, indicating the door.

“Yes, that is what I’m saying,” she replied patiently.

“Are you sure, because if you’re here to have another search I might be able to be of assistance. I do tend to know where gentlemen hide things,” he proposed, with a little smirk.

She sighed heavily, he was a nosy one that was for sure, “I will be fine, Sir. Please leave.” She opened the door and stared him down until he slunk through it.

“Good luck with your investigations, Madam.”

She managed to resist the urge to roll her eyes until she’d slammed the door behind after him. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, just in case she did find something forensics missed even though she doubted that would happen. That valet guy was right, men did have a tendency to hide things in the same places – the question was if she’d find something a little more incriminating than some soft core pornographic magazines or a little cannabis. When it came to Toulouse, the man was so clean cut on the surface that she wasn’t really expecting to find even that.

Had anyone actually used a trouser press in a hotel room before? Well, maybe English men. She opened the wardrobe, pulling out the spare blankets and sheets from the top shelf. She felt right to the back of the shelf, but there wasn’t anything there. Toulouse’s clothes were still hanging up, she flicked through them noting they were largely smart shirts and a couple of jackets – clearly he hadn’t expected to spend much time relaxing. This was supposed to have been a business trip so it made sense. The shoes were the same, when she shifted them out of the way to check the back of the wardrobe but thought she heard something move inside one of them. Retrieving the shoe, she was surprised when she found a key inside of it. It was pretty recognisable as one for a safe deposit box. Well, nobody was going to be able to say she hadn’t contributed anything to this case now.

 

* * *

 

 

Though she had intended to make her way to Richmond station under her own steam, Camille was too damn excited about her discovery. She called Leo up, who said he’d be there in fifteen minutes. This gave her time to give the rest of the room a once over. Hurrying downstairs, before she went outside to wait for Leo she collared a passing manager.

“Sir, though forensics are done in room 204 you really shouldn’t have allowed your staff in until it was officially released, which will be at the end of the day,” She told him briskly. The manager looked like he was about to object, but she saw Leo pull up in his unmarked Honda and rushed out to meet him. He smiled at her when she bounded up to the vehicle and threw herself in.

“Let’s find out what this key fits!” she said brightly.

“We’ll take it over the forensic locksmith, they should be able to narrow it down. If we’re lucky we might know this evening, if not tomorrow,” Leo smiled back at her, clearly picking up on her excitement, which was now rapidly fading at his last statement.

“What do you mean, tomorrow?” Her face was a mask of disappointment.

“How long would it take you in Saint Marie?” he asked her curiously.

“Well, I suppose there are only two banks on Saint Marie so, not so long,” she admitted with a sigh.

“I’m sorry London proved to have a few more banks than that,” Leo told her kindly. “But hey DS Goodlife has the USB drive the victim took from the safe!”

This was clearly intended to cheer her up, and she did feel a bit better. Really, given the number of banks there were in London, knowing by tomorrow was actually pretty damn good. At least looking at the contents of the USB would keep her busy for the rest of the day.

Camille retrieved the USB from Eric, who then left with Leo – apparently having been assigned the task of interviewing the staff at the Saint Marie consulate about the meetings Jean Toulouse had held with them in the days preceding his murder. She squeezed onto the end of the desk she was sharing with Arthur, who flashed her a quick grin and went back to whatever he was typing up. She plugged the USB into the terminal she’d been given, but nothing happened. She opened “My Computer” but it was like the drive wasn’t there, nothing happened when she plugged it into another port either.

She sighed aggressively, catching Arthur’s attention and Juliet’s, who had just passed him a cup of tea, “Is there a problem, Sergeant?” He asked politely.

“I can’t open any of the files on this USB drive, could you try on yours please Arthur?” So typical she ended up with a duff computer.

“It won’t work on mine either, Ma’am,” Arthur said, looking mildly confused by her request.

“Oh right, I see,” she really didn’t. “Juliet?”

“Ma’am, Camille, did DS Sy not explain? Our computers are all double encrypted. In order to protect the data on them they are unable to read data from or save data too any external memory devices. There isn’t a computer in this office that will open the files on that drive, I’m afraid – only the computer forensics lot can,” Juliet sounded genuinely apologetic, and Camille felt like a bit of a fool. Leo had probably just expected them to use similar secure computers on Saint Marie. I mean, they were password protected in theory, but she was pretty sure Dwayne’s password was just that – password.

“Ok, well that explains why everyone thought it was weird I wanted to drive in the first place,” she sighed.

“All the documents that are on that USB drive are available in the Operation Graphite files, Ma’am,” Arthur suggested helpfully.

“And I’d be happy to get you the paper copies if you’d prefer,” Juliet added.

“Yes, thank you Juliet.”

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur showed Camille the way to the canteen where she purchased a very disappointing sandwich, and a cup of coffee that only just managed to be better than the instant stuff she’d found in the kitchen of her temporary residence. Leo found her still reading through the documents off the USB drive, notebook open and frowning badly.

“How’s it going?” He asked, passing her a cup of coffee that was thankfully from a chain store and not the canteen. She accepted it gratefully.

“I can’t figure out why these files are worth stealing, let alone possibly killing for! It simply _can’t_ have been this Toulouse was after, I’ve been through them all three times and it makes _no sense_ ,” She waved a bunch of the print outs about to demonstrate her frustration.

“Well, maybe you need a break, come on, we’ll go out for a walk whilst you drink that coffee. Fresh air will do you the world of good.”

“No I think the ‘fresh air’ will give me hypothermia,” she commented wryly. The airline still had absolutely no clue where her bag was, though they now knew it wasn’t in Paris.

“Oh God, you should have reminded me! I got this out of stores for you,” he retrieved a hi-vis jacket from under his desk. “Sorry, we’ve obviously only got Police ones, but I assure you it’s lined with one of the warmest fleeces on the planet – our uniformed officers have to work in this weather all year round, after all.”

She took it off him, it did look really quite warm, “Think you’re willing to suffer the embarrassment and come out for a wonder with me?  Also are you willing to wear the coat?”

She laughed, she couldn’t help herself, slipped the jacket on to show her agreement. Outside Leo walked her the opposite direction from her house, and she was surprised when they soon found themselves in some sort of park. There was a massive pond full of waterfowl of various kinds, and Leo began walking around it, chatting about inconsequential things.

“How come you speak French?” She asked curiously.

“Ah, don’t be fooled by the British accent, I was actually born in Senegal. My parents moved here when we were seven. I picked up the accent because everyone in school was making fun of me, but we still spoke French at home. It’s a surprisingly useful language to have in London – what with the Eurostar bringing in hordes of tourists and actually London has a massive French National population – I’m sure it’s something like the largest concentration of French Nationals outside of France.”

“I had no idea,” Camille told him.

“Well if you chose to stay here you wouldn’t be short of fellow francophones,” Sy smiled at her.

“I don’t think I’ll be staying,” she paused, watching some children feeding the ducks.

“London not to your liking?”

“I’m sure it’s lovely under other circumstances, but it isn’t home. It’s freezing for one thing, and full of strangers. I might not know everyone’s name in Saint Marie, that would be ridiculous, but I do feel like I could stop and talk to anybody. Here, not so much,” She didn’t want to offend Leo, but London was not for her.

“Go on then, tell me about life on Saint Marie,” he began to amble off again, and she followed.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about a typical Saint Marie experience, something you miss, that makes you happy.”

Camille thought carefully, “I suppose end of a hard day at work, it’s hot, and I head over to my Mother’s bar. She makes me my favourite cocktail, and I can finally let go of the day and just relax. When I’m there I just feel, at home you know.”

“Are you there on your own?” he asked casually, but not so casually Camille missed the true meaning behind the question.

She gave him a small smile before answering a little cheekily, “No often the rest of the team is there.”

“Right,” Said Leo, looking at the floor a little shyly and clearly not willing to push the matter. She decided to throw him a bone.

“Though if you meant do I have a boyfriend the answer is no, I’m single at the moment. Though my mother makes considerable attempts to set me up every other week,” she grinned, and he smiled back, and she was reminded how attractive he was. It was certainly flattering to have him paying attention to her like this. Suddenly, she realised she recognised the building behind Leo.

“Is that where the flat is?” She hadn’t realised they’d walked that far.

“Well, it was nearly the end of the day so I thought I’d walk you home, cutting through the park is a bit of a short cut,” he shuffled, and Camille hoped he wasn’t after an invite up because she wasn’t willing to go past a little harmless flirting at this point. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Camille.”

“Yeah, _A demain,_ ” she gave a small wave.

“ _A demain!”_

 

* * *

 

 

He called her at eight thirty, just as she was about to leave, “We have a match for the safety deposit box key, it’s for a box in an independent bank in Twickenham. Do you want to come with me to check it out?”

“Absolutely!”

She still had her police jacket, so she slipped it on and went to wait for Leo downstairs.

“What do you think we are going to find?” Was his opening.

“I’m not one hundred percent sure. How long as he had the box?”

“Only a few days it would seem,” Leo told her. “It seems pretty unusual he would require a safety deposit box for the week he was supposed to be here. Especially when there is a safe in the wardrobe at his hotel. He’d have to be hiding something pretty significant.”

“Perhaps we should just wait and see.”

At the bank, they pulled on gloves and Camille felt a little thrill of excitement as she went to open the box, “I have to say, Toulouse really doesn’t seem to kind to be involved in illegal activity…” she trailed off when she saw the contents. “Then again, appearances can be deceiving.”

It was practically an orgy of evidence. Leo picked up and flicked through several blank passports – UK and French were present. There were piles and piles of documents that he and Camille began to flick through.

“A lunar chart, blank passports, fake visa documents – this all strongly indicates people smuggling,” Leo said solemnly.

“But what has it got to do with Idrissa Konare? And why would Toulouse be involved in people smuggling in the UK? We have plenty of that in the Caribbean.”

Leo was examining a document intently, “Well I’ve definitely got the answer to the first question – you recognise these names?”

Camille accepted the paper, which were copies of boat licences. She read down the list of names, _Rosa, Daybreak, Elizabeth_ … the last name clicked, “These are the names of the boats Konare had moored in his marina. He’s involved in the people smuggling as well!”

The look of concentration hadn’t left Leo’s face, and then suddenly he punched the air, “He’s Senegalese! Of course, it’s an old French territory, Camille. It’s easy to get a visa to France, but it isn’t to then get into the UK. Konare must be smuggling in people from Senegal, he probably has people taking them across the channel in those boats of his straight up the Thames and into London!”

“It makes sense,” she agreed. “But still why would Toulouse…”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe he _is_ involved with smuggling in the Caribbean. You said he had a lot of business interests involved in tourism – a good cover for moving people from island to island. Perhaps he hoped to strike a deal with Konare, get people from, say, Guadeloupe to France and then into the UK. But maybe he got greedy, Camille, maybe he wanted to set up on his own. He could have been stealing these bits and pieces of information off Konare, and thought that USB contained more details. Konare might have killed him because of it!”

They didn’t have enough evidence for it yet, but Camille certainly couldn’t refute the argument, “We need to search these vessels, see if there is evidence of people smuggling. We can’t touch a man like Konare without more evidence then this.”

“Ok, I’ll drop you off at the station and I’ll sort out the warrant. I’ll call you, get Eric to drive you down, he’s good at searches. We don’t have time to organise a full team we need to go in quietly, Konare easily has the resources to scarper if he suspects he’s in trouble.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille paced impatiently up and down the bullpen, Eric and Arthur both watching warily. She wanted the whole thing to be over so she could just go home. She’d gotten another phone call to apologise about not finding her luggage yet, and she’d rather taken her frustration out on the poor man at the end of the line. She grabbed the operation folder again, pulling out and briefly examining the photo of the unidentified man. He probably was just a gate crasher. Her mobile rang and she fumbled for it, Leo had the warrant. She grabbed Eric excitedly, ended up leaving the building with the photograph still clutched in her hand, so she tossed it onto the back seat.

Eric may well be the most terrifying driver she had ever met. Camille wasn’t exactly known for being a calm and considerate road user, she sometimes used the car horn in annoyance that was for certain, but Eric seemed to be absolutely nuts. She understood that driving in a city like London might require a certain aggressive style, but he took it to extremes. When they cut off the third lorry, Camille wondered if they would actually make it to Konare’s marina alive. They did though, with Leo leaning against his Honda – she’d have to make sure she got a lift back with him.

“Which vessel do you want to start with?” Leo asked.

Camille shrugged, “Alphabetical order, let’s go for _Daybreak_ first.”

“I prefer BBC Breakfast,” Eric was chuckling, and Leo gave a thin smile but the joke was entirely lost on Camille. He looked like he was going to attempt to make an explanation, but Leo made a slicing motion with his hand to indicate that now was perhaps not the time.

As they clambered aboard, Eric explained, “I used to be the liaison officer for customs at the Port of Harwich. I’ve seen a fair few boats kitted out for people smuggling in my time. We’re probably looking for a compartment of some kind, where they could stuff a few people in case they were boarded by the coast guard. Move whatever furniture you can and look for hatches.”

It took surprisingly little time to find what they were looking for, a small compartment lined with blankets and filled with empty bottles and food wrappers.

“You were spot on Leo,” Camille told him. “Think the other boats will be the same?”

“Only one way to find out,” he climbed up, and Camille and Eric followed. All three however came to an abrupt stop when they realised that there next target, _Elizabeth_ , was currently being boarded by somebody else.

“Hang on, he’s Jean Toulouse’s valet from the hotel.”

“The hotel didn’t say he had a valet!” Eric said, then added, “In fact who the hell has a valet these days?”

Camille didn’t have time to answer that, as the valet or whoever he was decided now was a good time to make a run for it. Before the men even registered what was happening, she’d leapt from the boat and sprinted after him full pelt. She was younger and fitter, so soon caught up with him and took him down with the sort of rugby tackle that would make the French national team proud.

“Ouch!” He protested. Camille found herself in a bit of an awkward situation as she didn’t have her cuffs. She therefore had to stay kneeling on him until Eric and Leo caught up and restrained him. He was pulled to his feet by the two men and she looked at him.

“I assume you aren’t actually a valet then?”

“Who has valet’s these days?” The response was rather cocky given his situation. Both Leo and Eric looked like they were waiting for her to answer.

“Well what do I know about English culture?” She complained.

“Was he dressed like this when you thought he was a valet?” Eric asked, indicating the suit and tie.

“Yes, why?”

“Ah, I can sort of understand why you made the mistake.”

“As touching as it is that you’re willing to forgive your foreign colleague, aren’t you supposed to you know, tell me what you’ve arrested me for? Maybe read me my rights?” Who the hell was this guy to be giving her a lecture on _procedure_?

Leo did the honours as they led their suspect to the car, Camille trailing behind slightly as she tried to brush the dirt off her trousers – with no suitcase they were the only ones she had. As a consequence when she looked up she got a very good look at the back of everyone’s head.

Before they loaded him into the back of Leo’s car she held up a hand to stop them, “Hang on, Eric give me your keys a second.” She retrieved the photograph that fate appeared to have dictated that she bring with her. “This is you, isn’t it? You were at the party the night Jean Toulouse was killed? How are you involved?”

He just raised his eyebrows, “Are you trying to conduct an official interview here?”

“No,” she spat back. “I suppose since you’re clearly guilty you’ll be wanting your lawyer?”

“Look, just get me back to your station.” Odd that he’d be so keen to be taken in, but hey at least he was co-operating at the moment. She was really going to enjoy interviewing him.

 

* * *

 

 

Leo asked Camille to call Juliet to arrange an interview room, and Juliet was in the lobby waiting for them when they marched the mystery man in. Her reaction was not what Camille expected.

“Oh my God what have you done?” She cried, moving towards the suspect as if she intended to release him. Leo sidestepped in-between them.

“Juliet, what’s the matter?” Camille asked.

“For God’s sake take those cuffs off, you can’t arrest him!” she practically hissed it, looking around nervously. Camille turned to Eric, but he looked as confused as she was.

“Juliet he’s under arrest,” she began gently. “He was at the party where the murder happened.”

“Well he’s my bloody Uncle, I think I vouch for him and say he didn’t do it!” She protested.

Leo looked down at the young PC sternly, “Juliet did you recognise him from the photograph? I know he’s your Uncle but you shouldn’t have protected him like that.”

The suspect spoke at that moment, “Calm down Juliet, it’s okay, it’ll get sorted.” Camille turned and studied him a second, bright green eyes – same as Juliet.

“He’s your Uncle,” she breathed out.

“Yes!”

“Of course he’s your Uncle, I can see the family resemblance… Leo we need to go! Eric you can stick him in an interview room right? Thanks!”

She dashed out the door, and a few moments later followed by a very confused and slightly irate Leo, “What the hell are you doing!”

“We need to get back to the Konare’s! I know who invited Jean Toulouse, and I know how he got the safe codes!”


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth Konare wasn’t there when they first arrived, the staff weren’t keen to let them in as apparently Mr Konare had insisted he not be disturbed. That was fine by Camille, she wanted to talk to Elizabeth away from her husband anyway. Instead they caught her coming down the street, several shopping bags in each hand.

“Busy morning, Mrs Konare?” Camille asked.

“Well my husband wanted to have some business meetings this morning, so he sent me out of the house. He does that a lot – I’d hate to get in the way so I readily agree. Also please call me Elizabeth.” She placed the bags down on the ground.

“Well, Elizabeth, I was wondering why you didn’t tell me your real relationship with Jean Toulouse? Or why you insisted you hadn’t invited him? And why you lied and said you didn’t know him?”

“But I didn’t!” She protested weakly.

“Oh please! You look just like him, I mean you seemed familiar when I met you but I can’t believe it took me so long to figure out. Jean Toulouse was originally from Senegal as well, then moved to Guadeloupe and from there Saint Marie. So what was he, your older brother perhaps? Or maybe even your father, a love child conceived when he went back to the land of his birth?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“It won’t be hard to prove, Elizabeth, we have your DNA – I can put in a phone call and get those results before you know it. It was you who invited him wasn’t it, you who gave him the codes to the safe. Let me guess, Toulouse wanted a share of the business – wanted to expand his own little people smuggling operation. You started to arrange things with that husband you’re so terribly loyal to. Did you realise that he planned to cut your husband out of the deal? Have you grown accustomed to your new life here in the UK, didn’t want to lose that life when your husband realised that Toulouse had betrayed him? So you shot him, didn’t you Elizabeth? You shot him and then you calmly went and took a shower to wash away any evidence!”

Tears were streaming down the young woman’s face now, and she sobbed, “No, no, you don’t understand. He was my Uncle, he was my uncle and he said he was going to save me!”

 

* * *

 

 

They managed to get the hysterical woman into the back of the car, drove round the corner out of sight of the house, and sat back and listened as she poured out her story.

“My husband is involved in people smuggling. I know this, because it is how I came to this country. He took a liking to me when he met me, took me as his wife. In this way I am lucky. The other woman, they have to work off their debt.”

“How?”

“By entertaining men. Vile, disgusting men like my husband. They thought they were coming to England for a better life, but they thought wrong. I see these girls at the parties, see them applying make up to cover their bruises. Snorting cocaine to try to numb the pain. I’m disgusted by Idrissa, I am, but I was too afraid to leave him. If he caught me, then I would become one of those girls.” The tears still fell down her face silently, and Camille felt bad for the way she had confronted the girl – but she also knew it might have been the only way to make her break.

“How does your Uncle come into this?” Leo asked her kindly.

“He hunted me down, my Father must have called him when he lost contact with me. Begged my uncle to use whatever influence he had to find me. My uncle, I’d never even met him, but he promised he’d rescue me. Said he needed to gather evidence against Konare to secure my freedom. I thought that Idrissa might be keeping something in the safe, he always told me not to touch _anything_ else in there except my jewellery, so I gave my Uncle the code. I did not know it would get him killed.” The sobbing began again in earnest, Camille got out of the passenger seat and climbed in the back, held the girl whilst she cried for everything she had lost.

 

* * *

 

 

Between the two of them, they convinced Elizabeth that she should go visit a female friend on the other side of London. They watched her retreat down the steps into the tube station.

“So we were wrong, Toulouse wasn’t involved in crime, he was trying to gather evidence against Konare,” she said thoughtfully.

“Are you sure about that? He had plenty of evidence – why hadn’t he come to us yet?”

“Maybe he wanted to secure his niece’s freedom first. Who cares, let’s get the bastard.”

 

* * *

 

 

They had to force their way past the staff and up to Konare’s study. Camille didn’t bother to knock, but she didn’t make it far through the door before she came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh God,” she said, seeing Konare’s body on the floor. He’d taken a bullet under his chin, and the gun in question was still in his hand.

“He killed himself,” Leo practically whispered next to her.

She squatted carefully next to the body, examining the gun. She knew her small firearms well, knew this was the same calibre that killed Jean Toulouse – she imagined ballistics would show it was in fact the same weapon.

“But why now? How would he know we were on to him…unless somebody warned him? God that _man_! Take me back to the station!” Camille demanded.

“We need to call this in, we can’t just leave the body,” Leo protested.

“Fine, you stay here and call it in, I’m going back to the station,” she plucked the car keys from his pocket, she was far too angry with herself to wait. She should have questioned the suspect first!

 

* * *

 

 

She ran up the stairs into CID, mildly pleased that she actually managed to find her way. Though when she burst through the office door, Camille discovered that today was the day for her to come to an abrupt stop due to shocks. Here she was to question a suspect, one who may well be partly responsible for two men’s deaths, and he was sitting at a desk in the bull pen _drinking tea._

“Why the hell isn’t he restrained?” She railed loudly.

“Ma’am,” Arthur attempted to get her attention, but Camille was too angry to listen.

“He’s been arrested for being involved in a _murder_ and he’s sitting in CID drinking a cup of tea! I know you English like tea but I’m pretty sure it’s not actually written into detainee’s rights!” The bloody man was smirking at her now, he seemed terribly pleased with himself.

“Ma’am if I could just have your attention a moment,” Arthur tried again. She waved him off, narrowed her eyes and stalked towards the suspect.

“Who did you call?” She hissed.

He didn’t answer, behind her Arthur went, “Ma’am he’s a police officer.”

She turned on the poor boy, “So? This whole murder is embroiled in a people smuggling ring – that relies on corrupt officials. He’s probably been paid off to look the other way!”

“No, he hasn’t.” The quiet voice came from behind her, she spun and faced the Superintendent.

“I’m sorry, ma’am?” She asked.

“Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, allow me to introduce Detective Inspector Richard Poole – normally based at Coventry station. He has been working undercover for the UK Human Trafficking Taskforce, attempting to infiltrate human trafficking gangs by posing as a corrupt police office. The group he infiltrated were recently approached by Konare, bringing Inspector Poole onto our patch. Though I’ve actually always been aware of Richard’s position, I believe PC Juliet Poole made you aware that Richard here is her Uncle, rather convenient for us as it meant it wasn’t strange for him to spend time with her, she’s been the main drop for information.”

“Why didn’t you tell me there was another officer investigating this case?” She tried to keep the fury out of her tone.

“As you rightly said, corrupt officials are essential for the success of human trafficking, and Inspector Poole was trying to identify who in The Met maybe assisting Konare.”

“Well it’s not going to be, I’m based on the other side of the world!” She protested. She paused as a couple of facts suddenly made sense. “Hang on, that’s why you hadn’t released the hotel room even though forensics was finished on it – you wanted to give him a chance to look around?”

“She’s quick,” Nightingale addressed this Poole person.

“Not that quick,” The Inspector grumbled. “She did believe I was a _valet._ Can I suggest we arrest Mr Konare now before he has time to entirely disperse his network?”

“Yeah well there is a small problem with that,” she snapped.

“What, you need to rugby tackle a few more officers to the ground first?”

She smiled tightly, “No, Konare’s dead. Shot himself in the head.”

 

* * *

 

After elaborating, Camille returned to the scene. She stood in the corner of the study, glaring the spot where the body had lain until recently. Leo walked over and nudged her with his shoulder, flashing her a smile clearly trying to cheer her up.

“You know, Konare’s suicide is practically a confession. We already know he had no alibi for the time of the murder, it looks very much like he’s killed himself with the same weapon used to kill Toulouse – whom he had every reason to want dead because he was investigating him. Means, motive and opportunity are all covered. You could go home.”

She looked at him hopefully, “You think so?”

“Yeah, twenty four hours for ballistics and you’re on the flight back.”

“I still feel like I’m missing something, I just can’t explain it.” Leo seemed to give up on his attempts to rally her, and walked off into another room. She watched Arthur as he opened the draws of Konare’s desk, briefly examining the contents of each – tagging those that forensics should look at more closely. When he opened the bottom desk draw, he snorted in amusement.

“God my Dad has a draw like this, look,” he beckoned her over. “Full of rubbish that ‘might be useful’. Look at this, French Francs! They’re hardly going to come into circulation again. Cables for devices he probably doesn’t own anymore and, oh my God, floppy discs. His laptop hasn’t even got a floppy disc reader, why the hell would he keep them if he hasn’t even got a way to read them!” He turned to Camille, intending to share a look of derision, but instead found her deep in thought.

“You’re right,” she said, sounding almost awed. “Of course you’re right. Why would you keep them if you can’t read them? And why would you lock up innocuous files in a safe?”

“Ma’am?” Arthur questioned her, clearly bewildered by her sudden change of mood. She was thinking hard now, all these connections being made in her mind. Eric came over and stood next to Arthur, squinting at her.

“Maybe it’s all proved too stressful for her,” he said in a low voice to the DC. “We should take her outside for air.”

“Outside!” She cried, running to the window and looking down at the river.

“Arthur, will everyone go back to the station after this? Do you think you could ask Superintendent Nightingale to come as well? Eric! Eric can you take me back to the station?” She asked breathlessly. “I’d really like to meet those computer forensics people.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a few hours before they all returned from the scene, but Camille had needed that time to make her case. She managed a semi-cordial conversation with Inspector Poole, who kindly confirmed what she thought was in fact the case. When he demanded to know why she was interested, she may have made something up about being called by a more senior officer and hung up the phone on him. Then Eric drove her over to meet the computer forensics lots, and she knew she had everything she needed. They kindly lent her an unencrypted laptop, and the two of them drove back to Richmond station a little more sombre than before.

Arthur had pulled through, when he entered with Leo and some other Detectives the Super was with him.

“DC Carter says you needed to see me Sergeant Bordey,” Nightingale seemed a little curt, probably still not best pleased Camille had arrested an officer involved in a major operation. Camille felt pretty certain she might be able to make up for that indiscretion though.

“Ma’am, I know who killed Jean Toulouse,” she said firmly.

“Well we’re all pretty sure it was Konare, Camille,” Sy said. “Have you extra evidence?”

“Konare didn’t kill Toulouse. He didn’t kill himself either – but both men were killed by the same person, as you well know Leo, because it was you,” Anyone in CID who was still pretending to work now stopped bothering to do even that. Eric had positioned himself behind Leo and cuffed him quickly.

“What the hell, Camille? Ma’am I don’t know what they are talking about!” he appealed to the Superintendent.

“I do hope these accusations aren’t unfounded Detective Sergeant,” Nightingale said slowly.

“I can prove it, Ma’am,” she assured her. “I rang Inspector Poole, he said on the night of the murder he was expecting to be introduced to a dirty cop that Konare was paying off. According to forensics, Leo’s footprints were all over the house.”

“Because I, well, I fucked up. Forgot to put overshoes on. I’ve already had my reprimand so if that’s what this is about you can take these cuffs off now.” He was getting properly angry now, trying to cover the panic Camille imagined.

“Yeah, forensics were told by the Super to ignore your shoe prints. But it was weird they were everywhere, including in Konare’s study, and right by the safe. Eric told me on the night he remembered you coming down from the third floor and he thought you’d just gone behind him up the stairs so he missed your arrival. But maybe he missed your arrival because you were _already there_. Hiding upstairs, waiting for a chance to make an appearance in an official capacity.”

“I might have been daydreaming Leo, but I was standing right in front of the cordon for the body, I would not have missed you there,” Eric said, supporting Camille.

“You need more than that to accuse me of murder!” Leo growled.

“I have more than that,” Camille felt calm now, all nerves gone. “It always bothered me, the USB drive Toulouse appeared to have taken from the safe. I just couldn’t believe that Konare would protect PR bumph in such a manner, irrespective of past troubles with industrial espionage. I felt sure we must be missing something, so I requested the USB drive – only to find the encryption software on my borrowed laptop wouldn’t let me read anything from it. Then when we were in Konare’s study earlier, Arthur showed me a draw full of essentially useless items – including floppy discs. Modern computers such as Konare’s don’t even have the capability to read floppy discs anymore, so what’s the point of them hanging around. Do you remember when I knocked that mug off your desk? There was a USB drive in there amongst the pens and paperclips. In fact, same model as the one from the crime scene – because it too belonged to Idrissa Konare. In fact it was the one Jean Toulouse tried to take from the safe.”

She flipped open the unencrypted laptop, and plugged in the USB drive. Juliet had helped her connect it to a projector. She clicked to open a few files whose contents were pretty damning.

“You probably had only seconds to grab a USB drive from Konare’s office and replace it with the one that Toulouse had taken. You also probably thought the police station was the perfect place to keep it – after all nobody could open and read any of the files. But I decided to borrow it and go over to forensics. The IT people there found this USB drive appears to contain the accounts for Idrissa Konare’s less than legal business ventures, and there are plenty of records of payments to you, Leo. This isn’t the actual USB drive by the way, they took that into the lab for testing. Found traces of blood on it – I’m sure in time DNA will show it belongs to Toulouse. Going to be kind of hard to explain that, isn’t it? As for killing Konare, well Elizabeth said she’d been sent out earlier – Konare probably wouldn’t want her bumping into you. After you shot him in the study you were meeting us in the marina, allowing you to chuck the silencer into the Thames.”

Nightingale was staring hard at Sy, she’d heard enough to be convinced. Arthur though, bless him, still young and idealistic – he couldn’t let it go without asking.

“Leo, Leo you killed two people! Why?”

“Ever since I came to this country, I’ve had to work to try to fit in. I changed my accent, my language, I studied hard. I was a bloody immigrant success story! Do you _know_ what I went through as a probationary constable? The language, and the pranks, and the damn right cruel things that my colleagues did to me? I put up with it, I put up with it so that I would _fit in_. I knew what Konare was a long time before anybody else had their suspicions – there he was being praised for becoming a successful businessman from nothing, and he was a crook! And a rich crook as well. So I thought why not take the money, why not screw the system I tried to be a part of but just wouldn’t accept me.”

“That’s enough!” Nightingale snapped. “Take him downstairs, get him a lawyer and get a proper confession for him. Just keep him out of my sight.”

 

* * *

 

 

Richard knew when Selina Nightingale was brooding, so he didn’t interrupt her. Just drank the coffee he’d been offered and waited for her to break the silence. Juliet had already told him the whole story, she’d seemed a little in awe of that Bordey woman and perhaps he was willing to admit it was an impressive arrest. He thought a bent copper had slipped through his fingers – but that impossible woman had somehow salvaged the situation.

“He’s not wrong, Richard,” she finally said. “About the problem – his solution was not the right one. But he’s not wrong about the problem. I know that, and you’ve not exactly managed to…integrate successfully with your colleagues in Croydon.”

“Well I don’t have any plans to become a criminal mastermind, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he told her.

“God no, I just…You took the more negative experiences and turned them into something positive. All the problems you’ve had at Croydon…you had genuine reasons to feel aggrieved with the Service. If any of them decided to look at your reasons for wanting to go bad, it’d all check out alright. With that, the fact you beat my pants off at poker with your bluffing skills and the knowledge that I know you never, ever would go over – it made you perfect for the operation. I had no hesitation in recommending you to my old colleagues. I just don’t understand how you could go one way and Leo Sy the complete opposite,” She sighed, staring into her coffee mug.

After a brief silence, Richard cleared his throat, “Well, um, Selina, psychology has never been my strong suit…”

“Yes it says that in your file,” She interrupted mildly.

He gave a brief frown before continuing, “I’m not sure what you want from me here.”

“Word’s come through. We’re shutting down Operation Crow, I’m sorry. I know we nearly had enough to take down some pretty heavy players, but word of your arrest by the lovely Detective Bordey got out and they will never touch you again. The UKHTC went in hard earlier this evening, shut down every pathway you identified. They’ll probably set up again in time, but we have dealt them a major blow.”

“Yeah, I had figured out that was probably going to be the case. I’m disappointed we didn’t get everyone we wanted, but I’m also really glad it’s over. I am _never_ going undercover again.”

“You also aren’t going back to Croydon Station,” Selina continued casually.

“What?”

“I’ve arranged to have you transferred here.”

“What?” He said again, clearly not realising how stupid he sounded.

“Richard those were dangerous people you were dealing with. We put out word that we didn’t have enough evidence to charge you, and thus you got let go. But if you had really gone that bent, your fellow detectives in Croydon would hardly want to work with you anymore. It’ll look less suspicious if you change stations.”

“My fellow detectives in Croydon don’t want to work with me now!” He railed.

“Well then that’s another good reason for you to move on. You should be happy, chance to start fresh at a new station, promotion to Chief Inspector…”

“What?”

“You should find another word to express your surprise, Richard. I and the UKHTC are very pleased with the overall outcome of Operation Crow. You deserve the promotion.”

“It was hardly a success. We never achieved the major objective of identifying and arresting the major ringleaders! You could even call the operation a failure.” She’d never had an officer argue against a promotion before.

“56,” She told him.

“What, I mean, I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean?”

“56 women were rescued from a life of forced sex work thanks to the information you have provided over the last two years. 11 of those weren’t even women, they were girls under the age of 16. You want another number – 4, that’s how many corrupt officials you identified. 5 if we count Leo Sy. I’d call that a result, wouldn’t you?” She smiled at him warmly, though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew what a challenge she was setting herself putting this man in charge of actually _managing_ people. He was not being self-deprecating when he said psychology wasn’t his strong point, but Selina thought she might have come up with a solution for that.

 

* * *

 

 

Eric drove her home, at a far more sedate pace. Outside the apartment block he kissed her on the cheek and wished her luck for the future, and a safe flight back the next afternoon. Camille didn’t exactly have any packing to do, but her mind was still reeling was solving the case and she had too much energy to just go to bed and crash. Instead she wondered about the flat, doing everything she could to make it seem a bit more homely for whoever ended up there next. The rug got stuck in the washing machine, and it was revealed to in fact be cream rather than a dingy brown. She took down the net curtains and leaned precariously out of the windows to give them a clean, the overall results being a lot more light. She wasn’t successful in getting the television to work, but she figured you win some, you lose some.

She was a little surprised by the phone call around nine asking her if she would report into the station at half eight the next day. She’d really rather not, but since she didn’t need to be at Heathrow until three pm she couldn’t think of a polite way to get out of it.

Just before she left the flat to make her way to the station, she checked she hadn’t left anything in the fridge. She already knew a jar of decent coffee was now in the cupboard, along with sugar and tea appropriately labelled pots on the counter. Perhaps the next visitor to the flat would enjoy their stay a little more. As she made her way to the door, she was forced to freeze with her foot mid-air in order to avoid stepping on the little mouse.

“You know, not all people would be okay with you living here,” she told it, mock stern. “You might want to keep out of sight a little more.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re joking right?” Camille sat down heavily on Leo Sy’s former desk, the contents of which had already been bagged and tagged and sent to forensics. If you didn’t know better, you’d think nobody had ever used the desk. Which was how Nightingale wanted it, the department needed to draw a line under the incident and move on.

“I assure you I am not,” she explained to Camille patiently. “I spoke to your superior on Saint Marie and he has agreed to your secondment to The Met. We are of course arranging for one of our officers to go over there and cover for you.”

“But, but, why do you need _me_?” she stammered.

“London has an extraordinarily large French speaking population, so many that it would be France’s sixth largest city based on the French Nationals who live here alone. Since you arrested the only officer in CID fluent in the language I needed to find a replacement, and since I’m already familiar with your work you are ideal.” Camille didn’t have a reply immediately, though Nightingale could tell she probably had quite a few things she’d like to say, they just weren’t appropriate when speaking to a senior officer. 

“I have no luggage!” She came up with brightly. She couldn’t stay if she had nothing to wear.

“Arthur!” Nightingale called, and the young officer appeared dragging Camille’s case behind him.

“Arrived this morning, Ma’am,” he told her brightly, then took a few steps backwards when instead of thanks he received one hell of a glare.

“Got anymore bombshells you want to drop?” Camille bit out.

“No, no, well, I suppose I should introduce you to your new direct superior. DCI Poole!” She called over the heads of the other officers. The door of a separate officer in the corner of the bullpen opened, Nightingale smiled at Poole and beckoned him over.

“What’s she doing here?” He said by way of greeting.

“Sergeant Bordey has been seconded to The Met. Now, I don’t want you fobbing her off on one of the DI’s Richard, I want you working closely with her until she’s settled in. I think you two can learn a lot from each other.” Selina then sat back to enjoy the little argument that occurred.

“I thought you were undercover?”

“Yeah well, you sort of ruined that when you arrested me!”

“Aren’t you based at Croydon, can’t you go back there?”

“Can’t you go back to Saint Marie?”

“I’m trying!”

Both of them turned round to her at once and declared loudly “I can’t work with him/her!” The timing was so perfect it was comical, and it took all of Selina’s willpower not to in fact burst into laughter.

“That’s enough! The paperwork is done, you’re both staying! Detective Sergeant Bordey, welcome to The Metropolitan Police Service.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I promoted Richard to DCI because in general murder investigations are run by a DCI in the UK, and also because otherwise there would have needed to be a character between him and the Superintendent and I didn’t think that would work.
> 
> I have started the next story. I can tell you it’s called “Honeymoon Period” and that you learn more about Juliet Poole, and get to meet Richard’s mother. I have all the character development scenes done I just need to work out the murder…


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